


Epiphany

by ChairOscuro (ConsciousLivingEntity)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Deduction, M/M, Orgasms, Sherlock is Married to His Work, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-18
Updated: 2012-06-18
Packaged: 2017-11-08 00:31:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/437127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConsciousLivingEntity/pseuds/ChairOscuro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John thinks that deduction is the only thing that can stimulate Sherlock as much as Sherlock stimulates him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Epiphany

**Author's Note:**

> Voice Kink! Because let's be fair, Benny's voice is orgasmic and sometimes Sherlock's deductions sound like sex noises. If we notice, John would, wouldn't he?
> 
> Anyhow, this was beta'd by the lovely lady Shanzay (cosmostrekker), who is seriously just beautiful and great. She's a tough beta, but I appreciate her, I do.
> 
> Also, I don't own Sherlock. It's pretty obvious but it ought to be said.

It hadn't been so bad when it started, when Sherlock was just an eccentric with a hobby that John was only too glad to join in on. That was before John realized that Sherlock was absolutely fucking beautiful, with long limbs and piercing eyes and an ass that was to die for. Sherlock was a walking wet dream, only too happy to scoop John up off his feet and leave John wanting him, even just sitting at the breakfast table snidely informing him of how useless Sudoku was. That was to say nothing of how he was at a crime scene, utterly radiant with the glory of not being bored.  


Unfortunately, the only thing that Sherlock was more than he was painfully beautiful was unavailable. When he said he considered himself married to his work, he meant it. John had never seen him so much as look at anyone with a lustful gaze. He was hopelessly dedicated to his true love: the chase, and the exhilaration of deduction.  


It was no wonder that mysteries occupied such a premiere space in Sherlock's heart. His work was the only thing that could stimulate him at all. It was the only thing that could make his eyes light up and make him jump up and down and exclaim things to the heavens. His work, specifically his ingenious deductions, were the only things that could make him sound like he was being helplessly flooded by pleasure.  


It always started with a gasp. Sherlock felt the idea come along, the first tingling sensations and tiny naggings of a thought he hadn't yet encountered, one that was specifically important or potent.  


Then, as the realization developed and Sherlock saw how brilliant his new thought was, he would begin moaning to let the world know just how amazing it was. He had to introduce it to the rest of existence somehow. Common phrases for the unveiling of an idea were “Ohhh, yes, yes!” or “Of course!!” which were sometimes followed by "God that's perfect!" or even "Good, good, that's clever!”  


After that, words would escape him and he would let out short enthusiastic grunts, triumphant like a bowler who had hit a strike, or more accurately like someone who was currently pumping their slick cock in and out of something particularly desirable. Overcoming the chaos of the world and putting together the pieces was a victory worthy of a victory dance, and sometimes Sherlock even did one. At the very least, if he was sitting down he would jump to his feet, because by now he was so very excited that he had to express his glee physically. The sight of Sherlock's whole body uncurling itself did not usually make this stage any less suggestive for John.  


At that point, he would delve right into deductions, voice going faster and faster, higher and higher, as he worked through his new, enticing information, reaching a climax of his own, to figure out exactly what he'd been searching for. The answer to a problem that may have needed as many as four nicotine patches and over two days without food or sleep would finally be there, and Sherlock would explode with rapturous energy.  


Then, even when he was about to grab his coat and head out the door towards some murder scene or bank robbery, or sequester himself away in the portion of the kitchen set aside specifically for experiments, Sherlock would always stop for a moment and let out a small, ecstasy-filled sigh of utter contentment. The kind of sound that one usually only heard uttered by a lover collapsing into their arms after an extremely good shag.  


Every time Sherlock had an epiphany it was the most obscene thing John had ever heard in his life. It simply wasn't decent. Thoughts of the sounds that Sherlock made on a regular basis, especially during cases, kept John up at night, hard, wanting, and wondering if he was better off avoiding gallivanting off with Sherlock completely or egging him on into more orgasmic thoughts. 

~~~~~~~~~~ 

Eventually John was unable to keep himself not only from the sounds, but from the shared euphoria of working on a case. He continued after Sherlock loyally, day after day, enjoying his dangerous, unconventional lifestyle, even when it meant getting a stiffy every time Sherlock came to understand something new and enthralling.  


It was awkward trying to hide an erection at a crime scene. Once, he'd been rather extremely affected by Sherlock's reactions to the corpse-of-the-week. “Don't you see?” Sherlock had rambled, beginning sparks of interest low in John's stomach with just the tone of his voice. “These worms here, they don't populate flowing water. You lot might have found him on the banks of the Thames but that's not where he was drowned. The water must have been stagnant, very, very still, a private pond. The murderer is from the country, not London. Excellent.”  


Donovan had given him a once-over and made a disgusted noise, complete with a scandalized, hateful glare. He'd wished he could explain that it wasn't the worms, the corpse, or the fishy smell of the Thames that was getting him hard, but rather the git with the obnoxiously sexy voice verbally creaming himself over the worms, the corpses, and the fishy smells.  


After that disaster Donovan never quite looked at him the same way again, and John contemplated getting a long coat like Sherlock's just in case the situation arose again. Unfortunately, none of the ones he came across seemed to fit him well. There were some days John cursed his small stature.

~~~~~~~~~~ 

It was a dreary, gray Tuesday, the day that John's favorite Sherlock epiphany of all time occurred. Lying back on the sofa with a number of nicotine patches stuck to his arm, Sherlock's eyes snapped open.  


First, the gasp, the lovely intake of breath. The first sign of Sherlock's aroused intellect.  


Then, the moan.  


Oh bugger, John thought. He could tell that this one was going to be a doozy.  


"Ohhh, Yes, I can't believe I never saw it before!"  


Sherlock continued on. John, sitting at the kitchen table with the morning paper and some jam on toast, was petrified to hear his own name in Sherlock's delectable, warm honey voice.  


"Oh, John, yes!" He said, clearly becoming more and more excited. "John!"  


John's reaction was instant. Heated cheeks. Heated thoughts. Heated cock. It was wholly involuntary, and just as unwelcome as ever. He didn't want any part in this. He also didn't want to imagine Sherlock in bed with him, calling out his name in that exact same, perfect tone, but it seemed that the fate was unavoidable.  


Sherlock had called him, clearly intending for John to jump up and meet him to hear the big news, but was already so enthused that he was off the couch and in front of the former army doctor, leaning on the table with both hands, long fingers spread wide. Not only had this epiphany apparently been huge, but Sherlock wanted him to know about it. He wanted it desperately too, it seemed.  


Sherlock had hit the grunting stage.  


"Nggh! Yes!" He said, pulling his fist in to mark a victory over the puzzle he'd been battling in his amazing, outrageous mind. John felt a shiver run down his spine.  


Luckily, Sherlock had now gone into the slightly less sexual phase of his ritual: the explanation. Clearly, he was heading for the intellectual money shot.  


"What is it, Sherlock?" John asked wearily, eager to be done with this. Sherlock hadn't been in the middle of a case, and while Sherlock had a handful of experiments and millions of trains of thought going on simultaneously, John hadn't known that the detective was doing anything that needed this kind of consideration, anything that would warrant this kind of passionate response. Luckily, Sherlock had no trouble jumping right in.  


"Well, it's really quite simple. I don't know how I missed it, how I never considered it before now. I've been trying to devise a way to eliminate the sexual tension between you and I for nearly a week."  


This was news to John. He didn't even have time to let his jaw drop before Sherlock went on.  


"Of course, eliminating it in any other way than through sexual intercourse is quite unlikely, given our living conditions. We're practically in each other's back-pockets, and even if we each were engaging in coitus with others on a regular basis- impractical for me, and for you, simply unlikely—"  


"Hey, wait just a minute—" John had the presence of mind to object, but Sherlock continued to yammer.  


"—You would still continually spend quite a bit of time with me and be turned on by my mind, if your reaction to my deductions on a regular basis is any indication. Not that I can say I blame you, but it is somewhat distracting, isn't it?” Sherlock never missed an opportunity to praise himself, John noted.  


“As for myself, I am able to separate my physical desires from my body when I'm on the case, much as I do with fatigue and hunger, but it has been bothersome in-between cases, especially since you have a habit of walking into the kitchen for coffee right after your morning shower and the water running down the back of your neck is infuriatingly arousing.”  


John had trouble believing what he was hearing. Sexual tension? Sherlock, attracted to him? This was all very new and sudden and frankly mind-boggling. He'd thought that Sherlock was finally running out of ways to surprise him, after nearly a year of living and working together. Obviously, he was wrong.  


Sherlock paused for a moment, seeming to think he was getting off track. He was ignoring John's baffled silence completely.  
“The point is, without us actually having sex, the probability that this troublesome affair will continue on is extremely high. That is unacceptable. As I told you when we first met, I am married to my work. Other, more trivial things in life like sexual arousal cannot interfere. If I were to enter into a sexual or romantic relationship with you, the potential arises for my work to be disturbed. That's the puzzle I have been attempting to solve. And then I realized, John!" He reached across the table and took John's shoulders in his hands, shaking him slightly with excitement.  


Poor, shell shocked John could only blink in response, face bright red, eyes wide, and not having a damned clue what the answer to Sherlock's problem could be, but wanting to know very much. Fortunately for John, Sherlock wanted very much to tell him.  


"John, you are my work! You have played a crucial role in over three quarters of the cases I have accepted since we began our flat share. You also stimulate my thinking by giving me a receptacle for my ideas, a bouncing-off board, if you will. Not to mention, you provide a fresh eye and a second opinion, however banal or unobservant. And your presence in the flat, and the basic maintenance that you perform is necessary for my ability to continue my experiments uninterrupted.”  


John didn't even care that Sherlock was essentially insulting him. It didn't matter one bit, because Sherlock did not only admit but also outright declare that John was important to him, practically saying that he cared. John was crucial, Sherlock had said. He had been necessary for his work. John felt giddy butterflies in his stomach. That's practically a goddamned love confession, coming from Sherlock, John thought, amazed. He tried to keep his heart from drumming too loudly in his chest, sure that Sherlock would hear it.  


“So it's settled! Since you are a key component in my work, the satisfying of our mutual sexual hunger for one another can be remedied by simply engaging in intercourmmmphh—"  


John shut him up with the press of warm, dry lips. After a moment, Sherlock returned the kiss with appropriate vigor, letting the frustration and tension of months drift away, until finally, the kiss ended softly and they parted from each other to catch their breath.  


Finishing the process, Sherlock let his eyes close shut and gave a long, happy sigh of completion.


End file.
